“Yeah. I guess I get that job. So, don’t you screw up, okay?”
I grin. “I’m trying not to. That’s why I’m asking for your help. Maybe you can give me a clue about how I can win David over?”
Lucy chuckles as she reaches for the detergent. “Winning the son over instead of the father. Well, that’s a first. If you ask me, though, it’s smart. If you win the son over, the father might follow.”
Really?
Wait. That’s not my intention.
“I can’t help you there, though.” Lucy puts the detergent into the drawer of the machine. “Frankly, I’m not sure if that boy can be won over. Maybe you should ask Zombie. He’s the only one who seems to have accomplished that.”
I frown. “Yeah. If only Zombie could talk. He’d sooner eat me, though.”
“I mean, look at me,” Lucy goes on. “After all these years, David still doesn’t like me.”
I touch my chin. “Do you know why?”
“Now, that I happen to know.” Lucy puts the detergent back. “It’s the reason why Harry is the only one he seems to like. Also, he told me himself once.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, excited.
This may be the clue I’ve been looking for.
Lucy sighs as she leans on the machine. “Simple. We’re girls. David doesn’t like girls.”
My eyebrows furrow. “He doesn’t?”
“He says that now. Give him a few more years and he’ll be all over girls. Right now, he hates us, though, probably as much as that cherry-flavored syrup he has to drink every day. Cherry-flavored, my ass. That does not taste like cherry.”
I remember the liquid multivitamin supplement I gave to David this morning and the expression on his face as he drank it. I guess it does not taste good.
“Why, though?” I ask Lucy, hoping to learn more. “Why doesn’t he like girls?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t all boys like that?”
Come to think of it, my cousins didn’t like me either when they were David’s age.
“Or maybe it’s some psychological thing like he thinks we’re all his mother and his mother left him so he hates his mother and he hates us.”
I look at Lucy. “Wow. That’s one… complicated theory.”
“Just something I got from Dr. Phil,” Lucy says. “But, nah, I don’t think that’s it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Me either.”
In the first place, David didn’t know his mother so he can’t be mad about her leaving. And she didn’t leave per se. She died, which I’m sure she didn’t want to do. I don’t think David would hate her for that.
Maybe hate is too strong a word. Maybe David just simply doesn’t like girls. The question is: Why?
“Sorry.” Lucy shrugs. “But I don’t think I can tell you anything more. You’re the new nanny so I guess you’ll have to figure it out for all of us.”
I nod. “Challenge accepted.”
Now, how do I find out why David doesn’t like girls?
I can think of probably the simplest, easiest method – ask him myself.
***
“Because girls are stinky, slow and stupid,” David gives me the answer without any qualms, crossing his arms over his puffed chest as he stands beside his bed.
I frown. “Who told you that?”
“I just know.” He sits on his bed and turns on the TV.
Yeah, right. I bet someone told him. A friend? A classmate? Or did he hear it from someone on TV?
I grab the remote and turn off the TV. “Young man, we’re not yet done talking, okay?”
“Oh, and girls talk too much,” he adds.
What the…?
I take a deep breath. Calm down, Sabrina. He’s just an eight-year-old boy.
“That’s not true, David. We are not stinky—”
“Ms. O’Donald is stinky. I keep feeling like I’m going to sneeze when I’m next to her.”
Probably, she put on too much perfume.
“And Jane is stinky. She keeps throwing up at school.”
“Well, maybe she’s sick. Anyway, those are just two girls. Not all girls stink. Do I stink?”
David doesn’t answer.
I’ll take that as a no.
“And we are definitely not slow or stupid,” I tell him as I sit near him. “In fact, we girls are just as quick, smart and strong as you boys.”
“No, you’re not,” he argues. “You’re fussy. All the girls in my class are fussy and all my nannies were, too.”
“Really?”
David nods. “They act like babies.”
I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “Well, I’m not fussy, David. I’m not a big baby. And tell you what, I’m going to prove it to you.”
He snorts. “How?”
“You tell me how.” I kneel in front of him. “You can give me three challenges.”
“Like dares?”
“Yes, like dares. If I can’t do them, then you can keep pushing me away and being mean to me…”
“And you have to give Zombie a bath and let me stay up until nine.”
I sigh. “Fine. But if I manage to do them all, then you, young man, have to promise that you’ll let me be your friend and that you’ll stop thinking that way about girls. Do we have a deal?”
He doesn’t answer at once. Probably, he’s weighing his chances.
“Well?” I urge. “Are you scared I might be able to prove you wrong? Even if I do, you have nothing to lose.”
He pouts. “Fine. We have a deal.”
“Good. Let’s shake on it.” I offer him my hand. “So, what’s your first challenge, sir?”
David touches his chin, a mischievous grin on his face. “Let’s see…”
Girl Power
Randall
What on Earth is going on?
Just a few minutes ago, I went to David’s room and neither he nor Sabrina were there. That’s fine. It’s not one of my rules for them to stay there at all times, after all. Now, though, as I approach the kitchen, I can hear David making weird noises and saying weird things like ‘brown vomit,’ ‘dog poop’ and ‘ants in your stomach.’
What the hell is happening?
As I enter the kitchen, I find out. At least, I see Sabrina on the counter, eating a burger. No, more like devouring the burger as fast as she can while David is sitting across her, watching her and cheering her on. No, not cheering her on but more trying to get her to vomit. In between them are two more plates, one empty except for some crumbs, and the other with another burger. The kitchen timer is there, too, ticking away, right beside a pitcher and a glass of water.
Okay. I think I know what’s going on. I’m still confused, though. Why is Sabrina speed-eating burgers and why does David want her to fail?
“David.” I approach them. “Was this your idea?”
“No,” he answers, quickly glancing at me before turning back to Sabrina.
Sabrina, on the other hand, just waves at me and then continues eating as she glances at the timer.
No? So, this was Sabrina’s idea? I find that hard to believe. If it is, though, then she must have a good reason behind it.
As she finishes the second burger, she grabs the glass of water, gulping it down. Then she pushes her plate away and grabs the third, cutting the burger on it into four and chomping away at the first quarter. She seems to be struggling now, though, slowing down.
“Spit it out! Spit it out!” David cheers as he beats his fist on the counter.
“David,” I warn him.